


Safety Measures

by Neurotoxia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Burglary, Gen, Poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'you found me hanging by my fingertips from your window and i don't want to tell you i was trying to rob you but idk how else to explain this and i don't want to go to jail and also you're kind of cute we should make out when i'm not clinging onto your window ledge for my life' au (<a href="http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/112392287541/list-of-aus-to-consider-where-one-or-both-of-ur">x</a>)</p><p>Driven by impoverishment, Bard resorts to burglary to support his family's needs. The night he chooses to break into Thranduil Oropherion's home, everything seems to go in an unexpected direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the above prompt on [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/112392287541/list-of-aus-to-consider-where-one-or-both-of-ur) for AU April.

Dangling from a window ledge can be described as a pickle. Particularly if it’s a stranger’s ledge you’re threatening to slip off. And even more so with a twenty foot drop underneath. Definitely more than a pickle.

Bard has miscalculated. He thought the owner was out for the night, giving him ample time to comb the place for valuables. But then he heard the front door open and he needed to bolt. In his haste, he launched out of the window he _thought_ had the garage underneath. _Thought_ being the key word, because he flung himself out of the wrong one. Bard just barely managed to grab the stone ledge and hold on, pain shooting through his joints from the abrupt halt. And now he’s a sitting duck waiting to be picked off.

“Comfortable?” comes a haughty, deep voice above him.

Shit. Bloody, buggering fuck.

“I...can explain.” Not really. At least not in a satisfactory manner.

“I see,” the man says, leaning over Bard. His blue eyes are as chilly as his tone, long blond hair falling forward over his shoulder. “I think it is rather self-explanatory.”

“Look, can you help me before you call the police?” Bard pleads. He prefers being arrested over falling to his death. His arms are starting to protest and his fingers are tired of clenching the rough stone.

The man looks at Bard for a few moments, considering. Then he grabs Bard by the wrist and starts to pull him up, revealing a lot more strength than Bard would have expected. Which probably means the guy will kick his sorry arse from here to Norfolk once he’s back inside. Well, he deserves it. 

“Stay down,” the man commands him when he’s hoisted Bard back over the ledge and dropped him to the floor. Bard doesn’t even try to resist, the man’s tone brooks no argument. That, and the letter opener in his hand which looks sharp enough to stab right through him.

“Look, I know you have every right to call the police, but I’m a dad and I’m all my kids got. I’ll give you back everything and you’ll never see my face again, I swear.” Bard isn’t even ashamed of begging, he doesn’t have much to lose. His kids however do.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t attempt burglary if you have children to care for,” the other says in a clipped tone.

Bard snorts. “They’re the main reason I do this. I’ve been unemployed for three years and my old boss made sure no one in the area will hire me again because he hates me. I don’t like being a criminal, but I didn’t know what else to do. It doesn’t make it right, but I don’t want any of my kids say they’re hungry ever again.”

The other scrutinises his face, looking for a lie. His blue eyes are so light, Bard finds them almost unnerving. Still, Bard holds his gaze. He has rarely ever been more honest – he can only hope the man will see it.

“My valuables,” the man says and Bard slowly reaches into his pockets to remove the five hundred quid and gold watch he stashed there. He never takes much to keep people from noticing. Bard puts the items on the floor in front of him and pushes them towards their owner.

“Keep the money.”

“What?” Bard is sure he must have heard wrong. 

“If it’s truly for your children, I’d rather you take this than break into another place tomorrow and be less lucky,” he explains and picks up the watch. The wad of twenty pound notes, he throws in Bard’s direction. “I will ask for one favour in return.”

Bard’s eyebrows shoot up. “A favour?”

“You will tell me how you managed to trick my alarm system,” he says and walks over to the armchair in the the corner. “If the explanation is satisfactory, we might be able to come to an arrangement.”

“What?” Bard still kneels on the floor, wondering what he’d missed for the conversation to take this turn. He hasn’t expected this at all.

“You heard me,” he says and crosses his legs, sitting in the armchair like a king on his throne. “Explain.”

“You want to know how I tricked your alarms?” Bard asks.

“Yes. And please, take a seat,” the man replies, twisting the letter opener between his fingers. “I don’t believe you can have a proper conversation with one party kneeling on the floor.”

“You’re really having a conversation with the man who robbed you?”

“ _Tried_ to rob me,” he corrects, placing the letter opener on the arm rest. “You’re not a very accomplished criminal, are you…?”

“Bard,” he murmured automatically. “Why would you think I’m not an ‘accomplished criminal’?”

Bard gets up carefully, considering to bolt for the door. But in that case, the man would be sure to call the police on him and he’s been stupid enough to give him his name without thinking. Running would only make it worse now. Instead, he walks over to the chair the other is pointing at, a good six feet away from the armchair.

“You may have managed to outwit my security system, Bard, but you climbed out of the wrong window and left behind evidence. Any sensible burglar would have thought to cover their hair and, above all, have chosen a different victim.”

“Met a lot of burglars, have you?” Bard can’t help but shoot back. Damn him and his mouth. It’s what got him fired and into this mess in the first place, even if his old boss was an idiot who had been looking for a reason to get rid of him anyway.

“I have, actually,” the man smirks and Bard swallows around a lump in his throat. That smirk looks equal parts dangerous and alluring. “And most of them would give the home of the public prosecutor a wide berth.” 

“Oh, bollocks.” Well, he’s screwed. He should start thinking about how to compose letters from prison.

“You’re lucky I found your feeble attempt at escape amusing, so I suggest you start giving me an explanation or I will arrest you myself.” He fixes Bard with that glare of his and it’s enough to unlock Bard’s jaw immediately. How many criminals have crumbled under that look, Bard can only imagine.

He rattles off how he used to work for a home security company, pulling both work as a guard and maintenance for alarm systems to earn extra money for his kids. How he’s become familiar with the common security set ups, where loopholes are and how to find them. Through all of this, the other man doesn’t say a word and just stares at him, hands folded in his lap.

“Well, that’s the gist of it,” Bard sighs and looks at the floor. “I only started two months ago. I hate it, but it’s all I could think of.”

“Don’t you get benefits if you’re unemployed?” The question breaks the silence that settled in the room, pressing down on Bard. It’s not the question he would have expected.

Bard snorts. “They only get you so far. I’m as poor as you can get without being homeless. Half the time, I pull food out of supermarket bins to get us through the month since I can’t badger the food banks all the time. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had a warm meal because I feed my children first and only eat whatever is left. And the system takes forever if you need anything. Our heating has broken down two months ago and they still haven’t put through my request for a repair. It’s November and our living room is at fourteen degrees.”

Great, he thinks. Vent your frustrations to the man who can’t even begin to understand with his Aston Martin in the driveway of his Victorian mansion.

“Sorry. Not your problems to worry about, Mister–”

“Thranduil Oropherion,” he says and gets up, leaving the letter opener behind. He walks over to Bard to tower above him. Good Lord, he’s tall. “If the system fails, it is in fact my problem. I’m part of the system I represent.”

“Well, it’s not your job to fix my heating,” Bard shrugs. “So, what happens now? Are you going to arrest me?”

“Hm, no,” Oropherion hums. “I believe I have a better idea.”

“Which is?” Bard follows the man’s movements with his eyes as he reaches into the front pocket of his suit jacket and produces a business card. He holds it out for Bard to take.

“Since my security system is obviously not up to par, I believe I need a guard who knows what he’s doing and what to look out for,” he says. “I have a son to protect, Bard, and you can imagine there a lot of people who would like to make my life miserable. Tomorrow at ten, you will come to my office to discuss the details. If you fail to show up, I will have you arrested after all. Finding you won’t be hard.”

“Hang on,” Bard says because surely, he must be hearing this wrong. “Are you offering to hire me? The guy who tried to run off with your gold watch?”

“I know bad men when I see them,” Oropherion explains. “You’re not a bad man, you’re a desperate one. This arrangement would benefit us both. I may not understand the hardships of poverty, but I know what it’s like trying to protect your children at all costs. If you do want to protect yours, you will take this job.”

“Of course I want to protect them,” Bard bursts out, clutching the business card in his gloved hand. It sounds surreal, but why would this man spin such an elaborate lie? To have him march into the prosecutor’s office himself and get arrested? It would be nonsensical. Bard is small fry and hardly interesting enough to warrant any schemes. Whether the man has actually the authority to arrest him, Bard has no idea, but he would have no trouble holding him here until a patrol arrives. Could this be a genuine offer?

“Then I will see you in my office tomorrow,” Oropherion says with his calm, deep timbre and extends his hand.

“Aye,” Bard whispers and clasps Thranduil’s fingers with his own.


End file.
